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Poem

Curled in this dank alley,
floating in this sea of blood.
Heart quickening, trying to 
stop my soul escaping.
Two warm wet circles, 
kissed upon my chest
by hollow jackets.

Cold, alone, staring at the clouds
play tag with the stars.

How long has it been?

I heard the nine-o-clock train,
send earthquake vibrations beneath me.
Taking late night office workers
home to gin and tonic respite.

I saw the ten-o-clock shadow
explode to life on graffiti wall.
Birthed from cascading neon.

I could still sense my legs then.
Now all is numb.

Tunnel vision drawn
to the cat preening itself,
sat like my guardian angel,
high on the fire escape,
waiting for its masters call.

Yesterdays newspaper,
blown from its resting place,
drapes across my face as if
to shield me from deaths embrace.

I couldn't brush it away even if I tried.

Eleven-o-clock; O'Malleys closes,
~always eleven on Tuesdays.~
Faintly, George complains, as he always has.
I wonder was I missed?

Slower now; heart falters in its work
much less blood to push around.

Twelve-o-clock comes; all is quiet
I no longer hear my heartbeat.
Although my eyes are open wide,
I no longer see the shadow.
Even my guardian angel has deserted me.

Twelve-ten : I died.

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